Home
by SmoothLadyCriminal
Summary: Cassandra has run away from her home in Chicago and she took her brother Patrick with her. Now she lives in the streets of LA. With only a voice of reason guiding her, who knows what will happen to her? Will her and her brother ever have a home? FINISHED
1. Chapter 1

**Okay guys I am going to be doin two stories (count them, 1, 2) at once. Anamaria is the first one, and this one, which is caused "Home". "Home" is about a forteen year old girl, named Cassandra Marie Lewis running away from her abusive father. With her, she takes her six year old brother Patrick. They have an interesting journey, which eventually will involve Michael Jackson, but this is not a romance by any means. So this is going to be a story where hopefully I will be proud of, because it does touch home to many people. Some credit goes to Jen, cause I got the voice of reason thing from her.**

I lay in bed, sobbing. What did I do to deserve this?  
It wasn't always this way. Before Mom died, we were so happy. Dad, Mom, me, and Patrick.  
But she died three years ago. I was eleven.  
I'm Cassandra. This is my story. I am forteen years old, and I am abused by my father, James. I hate my life here, and I want to get out. I just do not know how.  
My dad is an alcoholic, and he's been very angry since my mom died. He's started to take it out on Patrick, but I won't allow that.  
They ask me at school why I hurt. I cannot tell them why. I just say I'm clumsy.  
Hold on, no! He won't hit Patrick too! I won't let him!  
I run to the door, where I see my dad knocking Patrick to the ground. I think fast. I grab a beer bottle and throw it at my dad's head. It hits, he falls. I pick up Patrick, and stuff some clothes in a bag for him. I run with him to my room, and I get some clothes too, and my picture of Mom. I only have a limited amount of time. I hear my dad regaining conciousness. I open the window, sit Patrick on the ground outside it, and I climb out, too. I pick him up, sling the bags over my shoulders, and I begin to run. I don't know where I am going. Actually, I'm going to Aunt Dee's first, to doctor Patrick and me up.  
I knock on her door, and she answers. She takes one look at us, then ushers us in.  
"Are you leaving for real this time, Cassie?" she asks as she dabs some peroxide on my head.  
"Yes. I'd move in with you but you can't afford the legality of it all. I'll do what I can," I said.  
"Well, here. Here is fifty dollars. And a basket of food. Be careful out there," she said, handing me the stuff. I put it all in my bag and hugged her. I took Patrick's hand and walked out into the night, We lived in Chicago, but I didn't want to be here. I went to the bus station and ordered two tickets to Los Angeles. The look on the attendants face was no surprise.  
"Where are your parents, kid?" he asked.  
"Gone. Heading to LA to stay with people," I lied. He shook his head and gave me the tickets.  
"No money," he said when I tried to pay him. "I got it."  
The bus left at midnight. I let Patrick curl up and sleep on the seat as I stared out the window. This was going to be a two day ride, with stops in between. I worried.  
"What am I going to do, God? How am I going to take care of Patrick? I'm only 14."  
I heard a sweet voice inside me speak.  
"You'll find a way," it said.  
"Who are you?" I asked mentally.  
"I guess you'd say I'm a guardian angel, or something like that. I'm going to take care of your little brother and you," it said.  
"Who are you?" I asked again. "Do you have a name?"  
"Call me Mike. You have to do exactly what I say if you want to make it, okay?" the voice asked.  
"Okay," I said. I was wary.  
"Now sleep. You have a long journey ahead of you, Cassandra," Mike said, fading away as I fell asleep.  
"Wait!" I mentally shouted. "How are you going to help me?"  
"Don't worry about how I'm going to help you. And I really ain't going to help you. I'm really just going to help you help yourself. And your brother. Now go to sleep."

**Short chapters at first but this is going to be good. I feel it.**


	2. Chapter 2

**So Cassandra is hearing voices in her head. LOL here comes chapter two.**

The bus stopped at the LA station. I grabbed Patrick's hand and pulled him into the girl's bathroom.  
"Okay, we have to wash off, okay?" I told him, taking some soap out of the bag and a some paper towels.  
"Cassie, this is the _girl's_ bathroom," Patrick said as I scrubbed his face and arms. I did the same with me and brushed my red waves out as best as I could, and I put my hair in a simple ponytail.  
I grabbed his hand and our bags and I walked out of the bus station and into a bustling group of people. This was Los Angeles.  
"Wow," I whispered under my breath.  
"Cassie, what is this place?" Patrick asked, squeezing my hand.  
"It's where we are going to live for a while," I said. We began to walk. I saw vans and taxis and tour buses that showed you the stars homes.  
"Get on that bus," Mike's voice said in my head.  
"I don't have much money," I said mentally.  
"No matter. Just do as I say," he said. I shrugged and took Patrick's hand and got on one of the tourbuses. We were behind a huge crowd that had pooled its money so we tried to blend in, which worked wonders. This bus was going to a studio complex.  
I knew about studios. They had props. People could blend in. Mike knew what he was doing.  
"Of course I do," his voice said smugly in my head.  
They stopped and let us off. I took Patrick's hand and led him around the studio. I came to a house-looking structure and opened the door. I hurried him inside and I closed the door behind me and locked it.  
I looked around and grinned. There was two beds, and a bunch of props stacked around.  
"Cassie, what is this?" Patrick asked, awed.  
"This is going to be where we sleep," I said.  
"Oh. That's cool," he said. He curled up on one of the beds and instantly fell asleep.  
I sat in a chair and sighed.  
"That takes care of that. Now what am I going to do for money, for food?" I asked myself.  
"No matter what happens, it's better than being back in Chicago. I will help you, you just have to have faith," Mike's voice said.  
"I know. Could you at least give me a hint as to what I am supposed to do?" I said.  
"Simple. Listen to me," Mike said.  
"Haha," I shot back.  
Look, Patrick is fine. Go outside and walk around. I'll let you know when to go back."  
I walked outside. I walked around the studios and sighed.  
"Walk straight ahead," Mike said. I did as he was told.  
"See that man? Accidently bump into him, then apologize and walk away," Mike said. I studied the guy. He was talking and he looked slim. He was dressed like he was about to perform. I did what Mike said, I bumped into him. When he turned I about had a heart attack. Mike made me bump into Michael freakin Jackson.  
"Are you okay?" he asked.  
"No! How do you think I feel do you not know who that is?" I mentally said to Mike.  
"Cat got your tounge?" Michael Jackson asked.  
"Um, I'm sorry," I said, running off.  
"Now what was that for?" I asked Mike in my head.  
"He's going to help you all in good time. Just have faith," Mike said.  
"I hope so, or else I'm asking for another guardian angel," I grumbled.  
"Head back to the room, now. Patrick will wake up soon."


	3. Chapter 3

*Home*

*Chapter 3*

So, I woke up the next morning to Patrick pushing my shoulder.  
"Cassie, what are we gonna do today?" he asked. I smiled.  
"We're going to enroll you in school. But, you can't tell anyone where we are living, okay?" I asked him.  
"Okay," he replied. He got dressed and I snuck out of the studio. I hope I was unwatched. I stopped someone on the street and asked where the nearest school was. She pointed as she gave me directions. I thanked her and ran off in that direction. I walked into the school to the office.  
"Tell her the truth," Mike's voice rang in my ears.  
"Why?" I asked.  
"She's going to help."  
"May I help you?" the receptionist asked.  
"I wish to enroll my younger brother," I said.  
"Honey, how old are you?" she asked.  
"The truth," Mike said as I went to say 18.  
"I'm forteen. Please. I'll explain everything as soon as you enroll him," I said.  
She raised her eyebrows. "I can't unless you have a parent or guardian," she said.  
"Please, we have no parents, so to speak," I said. She looked in my eyes and sighed. She looked at Patrick.  
"Honey, would you like to go play over there?" she asked him. He took off to the play area. She walked from behind the desk.  
"What's going on?" she asked me.  
I debated on lying.  
"Don't go there," Mike's voice rang, a little frustrated. "She's going to help, only if you tell the truth. Trust me."  
"My dad was abusing me. And him. We ran away. Far away," I said.  
"How far?"  
"2,144 miles, give or take," I said.  
She sighed. "I'll enroll him. Where are you living?"  
"No where. Honestly, we're on the streets. I'm doing odd jobs until I can get him a better life. Please, you have to believe me," I said.  
She smiled sympathetically. "I do, which is why I'm writing down my sister's address. But, you have to be here everyday at 3 to pick him up. First time you're late is a pass. But any other time, I call Social Services. You understand?"  
I nodded.  
"What is your name?"  
"Cassandra Lewis. His is Patrick," I said.  
"Hi, Cassandra. I'm Melanie Racer. I'll show him to his class. Three o'clock," she said.  
"Okay," I said, going to Patrick. "I'll see you after-school, okay?"  
"Okay," he said, taking Melanie's hand. I walked out of the school, hands in my denim coat pockets.  
Little did I know I was walking down the street that Michael Jackson's hotel was on. I walked by the door as he was walking out.

* * *

*Third person*

Michael came out of his hotel. The press thankfully was not there. He saw a familiar looking girl walk by.  
"Wasn't that the same girl who bumped into me yesterday?" he thought before calling out "Hey!"  
She turned and Michael studied her. Yep, same girl. She was very young, couldn't have been more than sixteen.  
"What are you doing here alone?" he asked, walking up to her.  
She shrugged. "Just took my brother to school," she mumbled.  
"Do you have a name?" he asked, studying her eyes. Green, and sad.  
"Cassie," she said, looking away.  
"Hi, Cassie. I'm Michael Jackson," he said, offering his hand. She eyed it warily, then shook it carefully.  
"Nice to meet you, Michael Jackson," she said, turning and walking away.  
Michael stood there, stunned. No big reaction, no fainting. Just a normal conversation. As he got into his black SUV, he realized that's kinda what he wanted with someone to begin with. He worried about the little girl though. He hoped she wasn't homeless. She sure looked it, and she looked older than her years.  
But looks could be decieving. He'd wait till he saw her do something that called out to him. Then he'd consider helping her out. After all, children did not deserve to be on the streets.

* * *

*Cassandra POV*

I turned to see the SUV pull away and go the opposite direction. Michael Jackson looked as if he could read her soul.  
"Are you sure he's going to help me? He had his chance then," I said in my head, walking around the corner. "And why do you sound so much like him?"  
"That is mere coincidence. And yes, he is going to help you. Big time. And the reason why he hasn't helped you yet is he needs to think about your character. He has a tough time trusting others."  
"Yeah, I know, with the accusations, I saw on TV," I mentally answered. "How am I going to make money?"  
"I'd recommend pawning that locket," Mike's voice said. "I know it was given by your mom, but she wouldn't want you the way you are now, she'd want you with better than meager means."  
So I walked into a pawn shop, which was run by a Mexican lady, and I took off the locket. She gave me 50 dollars.  
"Mike that was worth much more than fifty bucks," I muttered under my breath.  
"When you're in need, anything helps," Mike's voice said. I saw a woman worse of than me. I handed her a ten dollar bill.  
"No, chile, take this back. I know you are just like me, I saw you yesterday," she argued.  
"Ma'am, please. Go get something to eat," I insisted.  
"Bless you, child," she said, hurrying into the next resteraunt.  
"That was very good, Cassandra. And without my help. And now, if you would steal a sneaky look to your right, don't let your face be shown too much," Mike's voice said. I did as he said to see a black SUV, much like the one Michael Jackson got into, idling at the corner. It drove off as I turned around.  
"Might as well get some soap and things before 3. I don't want to make this harder on Patrick than it already is," I whispered to myself.


	4. Chapter 4

*Home*

*Chapter 4*

I got Patrick at 3, and hence, our routine began.  
I woke up at 7AM on the dot, got Patrick to school at 7:30, walked past the hotel by 8, which would normally ("hopefully", corrected Mike) caught the eye of Michael Jackson. Then I'd take odd jobs as a panhandler, making about 10 dollars an hour. At 12, I'd get lunch and few necessary items, then be back at the school by three to get Patrick. Then we'd walk around, get dinner (normally two slices of pizza and two medium sodas) and catch the last tour bus to the studio at 6:30. I then took Patrick and I to the bathrooms, where we'd wash up and use the bathroom, then we'd walk to our little house by 8, and were both asleep by 9.  
Weekends were tricky at first, but then I found a gym where kids of "need" could stay and play for free as their guardians worked. I got him by four, had a quick supper then continued the same routine as we did during the week.  
One night, about two months into our routine, I counted the money. I still had 35 dollars left from what Aunt Dee gave me. Add 10 dollars a day, seven days a week, 8 weeks to two months, minus the 10 bucks I spent on necessary items every week (5 dollars on soap and snacks, and lunch and dinner, which together, was 5 bucks) I had 576 bucks.  
"Okay, Patrick," I said. "Tomorrow, we may be staying somewhere different, so when I come get you, I may need to speak with Miss Racer, ok?" I asked.  
He nodded. I fell asleep, smiling. We were on our way.  
The next morning, I took him to school. Then I found a hotel that looked cheap. I went inside.  
"Excuse me, do you rent rooms by the month?" I asked the lady.  
"I can. For you, I'll say 150 a month, how's that sound? 200 deposit," she said. I handed her 350 dollars.  
"Okay," I said. That was a great thing to ask. I could pay that rent. I made about 280 a month, give or take, so I could afford the rent, and have 130 left to buy some real groceries. They'd have to last the month but hey, I could do it. She gave me the keys and she and I went to room 3G. One room, two beds, two small dressers, a tiny closet, a TV, a bathroom, and a little fridge. I made a mental note to buy a little grill. I asked if that was okay.  
"No problem. Hey, can I ask if I can help in anyway. You look like a runaway, but a smart one. You seem to have it all figured out," she said.  
"I'll let you know. My little brother will be here, too, so I'll let you know," I repeated. The woman smiled, and left. I checked the clock. It was only 12. I'll take a day off.  
"Good call," Mike's voice said. "I'm beginning to think you may not need me too much."  
"I do. You like the place? It should do for now." I said.  
"Yeah, it should. And the school will approve, too. Patrick will be able to catch a bus here, anyway, and Lola, the girl at the desk, will help him in, and watch him. You should get a couple hours in so you can get some extra money," Mike said.  
"Why won't she rat me out?" I asked.  
"She's been in your position before. Someone ratted her out. She was put in foster care and she doesn't want that for you," Mike's voice said.  
"Oh. What about Michael Jackson? Since I'm kind of on my feet, will he still help, or not?" I asked.  
"Oh, this isn't on your feet, Cassandra. You're barely on your knees. He's going to be the one to bring you to your feet and keep you there. Trust me," Mike said. "There will be struggle before then. And he will see that. You just have to have faith."  
"I do. It's just crazy. I didn't think I'd be on my own at fourteen, and I never thought Patrick will be here homeless, too." I started to cry as I realized what I brought my brother into. I hadn't cried since we left. I knew I had to be strong in front of Patrick, but everything came crashing on me all of a sudden.  
"You're only human, Cassandra. You have been so brave through this, and I was wondering when you were going to break like this. I've seen it coming," Mike's voice said.  
I sniffled and sat up and looked at the clock. 2:15.  
"I need to get to the school," I said. I walked and when I passed the hotel I looked up. Maybe Michael Jackson was up there. I shrugged against the cool wind that blew. It was November. I wondered what I was going to do for Thanksgiving.  
I walked into the school. I found Miss Racer.  
"I have an address for you," I said.  
"Okay," she said, bringing up Patrick's information on her computer.  
"Room 3G, Palm Paradise Motel, 16th Street," I said. She looked at me.  
"You rented a room there?" she asked.  
"Well, it's not the Buckingham Palace, but it's better than before," I said. She smiled.  
"Okay. That should be fine," she said.  
"Could I get him to ride the bus there? The owner, Lola Martin, told me she'd watch him while I work," I said. She nodded.  
"No problem. I'll see that he gets on the bus in the afternoon, if you see he gets on every morning," she said. I nodded. "What time?"  
"7:15"  
"Great. That'll be earlier up in the morning, but it'll be easier on me tremendously," I said. I took his hand and walked out.

* * *

*3rd Person*

Michael watched out the lobby window to see Cassie, the homeless girl, walk hand in hand with a little boy. She did this every afternoon. He walked outside, and eavesdropped on some of their conversation.  
"It's better than before, and we have a bathroom. A real one. And we have a TV. But you have to ride the bus back and forth to school while I work, but it's going to be a little bit better, I promise," she was saying.  
"We stay in a motel? Like, we live in one? That's cool!" the little boy was saying.  
Michael saw her face. Cool was not what she thought of it. She thought of it as necessary, and so did Michael. The light turned, and they crossed the street.  
Living in a motel. Michael wondered if that was better than before, then _what_ were they living in before? For two months he worried about this girl. It drove Lisa up the wall, but he couldn't help it. Something nagged at him. He knew Cassie was a good person, and he now knew she was 14. Her little brother was 6. He couldn't help but wonder: what kind of parents would leave their kids on the street?


	5. Chapter 5

*Home*

*Chapter 5*

This routine was working out amazingly. With the two extra hours, and minus my daily expenses, I was making 350 a week. I put 200 dollars aside for the rent (I add the extra 50 for Lola taking care of Patrick after school), and took a day off, going to get a grill for the room, some towels, some clothes, and some food with the rest. I had 50 dollars left, which I saved.  
I decided to pay Lola at the first of the month, it would be easier that way. That way, I'd have 1200 dollars to spend every month. I did the math and decided 600 would go into savings.  
Parick's last day of school before Fall Break came, and as I was walking back with him (I chose to get him from school that day, since I was not working), a bellhop stopped me at Michael Jackson's hotel.  
"Excuse me, a man is in there and would like to speak with you," he said.  
"Don't play with me," I said, trying to walk away.  
"He gave me 300 bucks to get you in there. Please," he said. I sighed and went inside.  
"This way," he said, leading me to an empty conference room. Michael Jackson was in there.  
"Hello, Cassie," he said, smiling. "And who is this?"  
"Patrick. My little brother. Patrick, this is Michael Jackson," I said.  
"I know. Nice to meet you, Mr. Jackson," Patrick said quietly.  
"Nice to meet you too. I'd like to talk to your sister. If Phil could show you to the kids' area, she'll be with you soon," he said. Patrick nodded and went with the bellhop. I sat down.  
"Cassie, I need to know something," he said.  
"Be honest," Mike's voice whispered.  
"Yes?" I asked.  
"Why are you here in Los Angeles?"  
"I ran away from home."  
"Why?"  
"Because my home wasn't a home. It was, forgive my language, hell on Earth. And I wasn't going to let my brother get hurt," I said.  
He nodded thoughtfully.  
"Where do you live now?" he asked.  
"The Palm Paradise Motel," I said. I explained to him my system.  
"I saw the other day you gave that woman a ten. Why?" he asked.  
I shook my head. "She needed it more than me," I said.  
"Cassie, I've seen you everyday. You are only fourteen but you do the work of any grown woman I know. I am so sorry as to your former homelife," he said.  
"It wasn't your fault," I said.  
"I want to know if you and your brother would have Thanksgiving dinner with us Thursday?" he asked.  
"Us?"  
"Me and my wife. Lisa Marie Presley. We'd be happy to have you," he said.  
I shook my head. "I couldn't-"  
"Please. It saddens me that you have no one to have Thanksgiving with other than each other. Just say yes, so I don't have to worry for you two," he said.  
I narrowed my eyes. "You worry for us?"  
"Since you bumped into me that day at the studio," he admitted.  
"Say yes," Mike's voice whispered.  
"I will. We will. What time?" I asked.  
"I'll send someone to pick you up at 2 in the afternoon," he said. "I need to get back upstairs. It was nice to see you again, and I'll see you Thursday." He exitted the door and I went to get Patrick. I explained to him, and to Lola, what was going on. I didn't tell Lola who I was eating with, I just told her I was eating Thanksgiving with someone. She didn't ask who, which was great.  
That night, I made grilled cheese and we had Doritos with it. And apple juice. I was doing whatever it took at the moment to survive.


	6. Chapter 6

*Home*

*Chapter 6*

Thursday morning came, and I made sure the room and both of us were clean. I wasn't too sure of what Michael Jackson thought of us. Maybe he saw us as publicity stunts to make himself look good.  
"You know that isn't true," Mike's voice floated in my head.  
"I really am starting to think I'm crazy," I said to him.  
"You're not. Believe it or not, everyone has a voice of reason. They just ignore it most the time," Mike said.  
I rolled my eyes as Patrick got out of the tub. I dressed him in black pants and a blue shirt. I dressed in a black long sleeved shirt and a red spaghetti strapped dress over it. I also had black boots on. I looked out the window to see a black SUV pull up.  
"C'mon Patrick," I said, grabbing his hand and our coats. I opened the door to see Michael Jackson himself.  
"Hi, Cassie," he said.  
"Um, hello," I said.  
"This is your home?" he asked.  
"For the time being," I said. He looked around and I saw a sadness come across his eyes.  
"You've made it into a home," he said under his breath. Then he cheered up. "Well, let's get going, I don't want the missus to get impatient," he said. I smiled some and took Patrick's hand, and followed Michael Jackson out of the room.  
We got to the hotel, and we rode the elevator to the 45th floor. He opened the door, and I saw one of the most beautiful women sitting on the couch. But I could tell from the way she looked at us that her inside was as ugly as Satan.  
"Lisa, dear, this is Cassie and Patrick. They'll be joining us for Thanksgiving," he said.  
"Oh, right, the homeless kids you fawn about constantly," she muttered. I glared at her.  
"Well, let's not sit here with our stomachs growling," said a happy looking young person from the kitchen. "Dinner is served."  
We went to the dining room table. I sat next to Patrick protectively. There was turkey and cranberry sauce and stuffing and rolls and yams and ham and beans.  
"Don't just sit there, guys, dig in," Michael said, smiling at us, as he began to fill his own plate.  
We sat there eating for a while. Lisa had a salad. I wanted to laugh. Come on, a salad at Thanksgiving? I wanted to say that was going to do nothing for the weight in her overly inflated head, but I kept that thought to myself.  
"Cassie, is that a nickname?" Michael wondered.  
"Yeah, her real name is Cassandra," Patrick said.  
"That's a pretty name," Michael said. "So, exactly how do you keep that room?"  
"I work in a laundry shop for about two hours, I get ten bucks. Then I run errands for the dress lady for about three hours, that gives me 5 bucks. I do odd jobs. A normal day I get about thirty bucks," I said.  
"You do that everyday?" Michael asked.  
"I have to do what I need to do to let us survive," I said.  
I could see the question in his eyes. _Why did you really leave home?_ But I knew he wasn't going to ask it now.  
Lisa opened her mouth and did it for him.  
"Why'd you leave home to begin with?"  
"Lisa," Michael said, warningly.  
"No, it's fine. If you must know, everyday, for three years, I was physically, mentally, and yes, even sexually abused by my father. He was starting to hurt my brother, too, and I wasn't going to have that. So I left, and something told me to come here," I said, looking her in the eye. I pulled back my sleeve to show her a long gaping scar down the forefront of my arm. "He did that to me, when I called the cops. So, as you can plainly see, I was out of choices."  
Lisa looked shocked. "Excuse me," she said, as she left.  
I turned to Michael. "I didn't mean to-"  
"It's fine, Cassandra. It was a bit of a wake up call to her. Now, mind you, she won't be as nice as she should be. But it's something I tolerate," he muttered to himself. "Would you guys like dessert?"  
We spent a good two hours there. Lisa retired to her room, complaining of a headache. Soon, Michael himself drove us back home.  
"Thank you, Michael. It was nice to spend time with people," I said.  
"I'm very admiring of you, Cassandra. Most girls couldn't deal with living on their own. Most girls your age are normally hookers or druggies by now. But not you. And you have your little brother with you. That must be hard," he said.  
"It is," I said. "But he's the reason that keeps me from giving up."  
He hugged me. "I'm offering to have you over for dinner twice a week, and one day a week, I'll bring some food here. You've done so much already, let someone help you," he said.  
"MIKE! Help!" I cried out mentally.  
"What does your heart say?" Mike simply said.  
"That sounds wonderful. Thank you so much," I said. He carried Patrick to the door as I opened it. Then he laid Patrick on his bed.  
"Here," he said, throwing a phone at me. I caught it.  
"My number is in there. When you need me, just push 2, and it'll call me. That number is programmed into my phone," he said. I hugged him.  
"Why are you helping me?" I asked.  
"Because, you don't deserve this, and I hate when kids don't get what they deserve," he said, and he left, with me more confused than ever.


	7. Chapter 7

*Home*

*Chapter 7*

So this routine worked for me, and it worked on Lisa Marie's nerves. I can't believe someone as nice as Michael would marry someone so nasty.  
"That's not the girl he met at first," Mike's voice whispered.  
It didn't matter to me. I made a decent amount of money, and around Christmastime, Michael, who had moved back to his house on the other side of town, invited us to celebrate with him. I agreed. Life was getting to be okay.  
But then someone screwed it up for me.  
I came home to see Lola being arrested and a social worker waiting with my brother in her arms.  
"Let go of my brother!" I said, angry.  
"You two are reported as runaways. You have to come with me," she said, and a police oficer put me in her car. Outside, all I heard was someone on the phone saying "Be sure to thank Lisa Marie for me."  
That sneaky bitch! She got us caught.  
"Miss, can I please go get my belongings!" I screamed. She sighed and nodded. I ran to the room, grabbed my tin can with my money, all 3,241 dollars of it, and the phone Michael had given me, and I ran back to the car with some clothes for Patrick and myself.  
"Mike!" I screamed mentally. "Help!"  
"Michael will, don't worry," he said.  
I was fuming. Michael's wife got us caught!  
"And she's dumb enough to tell him about it. Don't worry," Mike's voice said again.  
"Why is Lola being taken to jail?" Patrick whispered. The lady heard him.  
"For harboring a runaway without telling the police," she said.  
Patrick, being the smart cookie he is, opened his mouth again.  
"She didn't know we was runaways," he said softly.  
"She didn't?" the woman asked.  
"No, she didn't. I never told her," I said. The woman called someone.  
"Hey, the woman you have with you, she didn't know they were runaways. You should let her go," she said. I leaned back in the seat, happy that Lola, though she did know about my situation, wouldn't be in trouble.

* * *

Meanwhile, Michael and Lisa were across town at odds with each other.  
"You did what?!?" Michael asked furiously. He couldn't believe what she had said. She had flounced in, told him she took care of Cassandra and Patrick by calling social services and the police.  
"You worry all the time about those kids, and never have time for me," Lisa said, slinking up to him seductively. He pushed her away.  
"Lisa, they can't go back home, what have you done?!" Michael said, hysterically.  
"Why are they so damn important?" Lisa asked.  
"Why are you? Cause I love you. And I love them. They are homeless, but they are the purest souls I have ever known! I actually want to help them get out of the mess they're in now, and you made it worse!" Michael yelled, putting his head in his hands.  
"You know what Michael? Fine. Pick them over me, I'm gone! I'm leaving, because obviously you have you priorities all screwed up. Have a nice life, Your Majesty, because the Queen has left the building!" Lisa shrieked, slamming out of the house.  
Kai walked in, with Michael's cell phone.  
"Michael, it's that little girl," she said, worried. Michael smiled half heartedly at Kai and took the phone.  
"Cassandra?" I asked quietly.  
"Michael, you need to help us!" she said.  
"I'm going to. I'll be there soon." He hung up, grabbed his coat, and got in his SUV, and sped to the police station.

* * *

I was sitting there on a bench with Patrick as Michael stormed in. He looked so angry, for a moment I was scared he was upset with us. He spotted us then relief broke over his face.  
He came over to us and hugged us. "Are you two okay?" he asked.  
"Michael, they were...and...I heard Lisa's name...and..." I stuttered.  
"Shh, Cassandra. It's ok, I know everything. And I'm going to get you out of here, and you two are going to stay with me for a while," he said, hugging us again. He went to the front desk.  
"Whoever brought those two in, I demand to see them, now," he said, angrily.  
"Y-yes Mr. Jackson," the guy said, picking up the phone. "Ramona, the two kids? Someone is here to talk to you about them...no, I doubt very highly he's their dad...it's Michael Jackson, believe it or not, and he is not happy."  
Soon, the social worker, Ramona Ramirez, came in, all haughty.  
"Mr. Jackson, I highly dount these kids concern you-"  
"Oh, they do. I see them on the streets everyday. She actually tried to make it out there on her own, cause she was tired of her dad beating on he and her brother," Michael said.  
"There is no proof of that, Mr. Jackson," Ms. Ramirez said. She was so cold.  
"No proof?!? Are you kidding me? Cassie, come here, and show this woman the proof," Michael said, furiously. I walked to him, and pulled up my sleeves so she could see the scars. Then I lifted my shirt so she could see the burn scars on my back.  
"Well, she should have called someone. This does not-"  
"I be damned if this doesn't concern me! And you are not sending them back to that bastard that calls himself a father? Are you out of your damn mind? I'm more than prepared to take them with me. I have the means to raise them, and I'm not leaving here without them," Michael said, completely losing it. I was scared, and I stepped back a few inches.  
"Look, I'll investigate. I'll talk to her old teachers, and if they have noticed anything odd, I'll be more than happy to send them with you. They need to stay here for tonight. Please, Mr. Jackson, let me do my job," she said, in a different tone than the cold one. She seemed to be impressed by his outburst.  
Michael calmed down. He knelt by us again.  
"Look, I'll be back tomorrow to see if it changes, okay? I love you guys," he said, his voice breaking.  
"We love you too," I said, hugging him. "Don't let them send us back there. I'll just run away again."  
"I know, sweetie, I know." Michael's voice was filled with tears. And that's when I knew that I wouldn't need Mike's voice anymore.


	8. Chapter 8

*Home*

*Chapter 8*

I sat in the cell in the morning as Ms. Ramirez came and opened the door.  
"Cassie? I am so sorry for what you went through. I just got of the phone woth your principal. Your dad wasn't even looking for you. So, that makes it clear to me that you do not need to stay with him. Michael Jackson was real affectionate with you guys yesterday. My job is obviously clear. You guys are to go with him, and I'll have paperwork drawn up soon for him. He's waiting outside, so you're free to go," she said, smiling. So much different from yesterday.  
We ran outside, and there he was. Patrick ran to him and they hugged. Michael saw me and smiled.  
"Cassie," he said, breathing out of relief and I ran and hugged him tightly. "Ready to go home?" he asked.  
"Yes," I said.  
As we rode in the SUV back to his ranch, I had to ask.  
"Michael, why do you want us to live with you?"  
"I've grown attached to you guys. I love you two as if you were my own," he said.  
"Do you have kids?" I asked.  
"No. But I do, now," he said, grinning.  
We were both happy, but I felt a surge of anger.  
"Is Lisa there?" I asked.  
"No. She left," Michael said, his tone changing. We pulled in and Michael smiled.  
"Come on, I'll show you around. There are some rules, Cassandra," he said.  
Here it comes.  
"What?" I asked, nervous.  
"One, you are not panhandling anymore. And you're not working until you're old enough to. Not that you need to. And you're going to school. Starting next week, you guys are attending Fairview Academy, the best private school in this city," Michael said, as we walked in the house.  
"Okay," I said, happy. I was happy to go back to school. He showed Patrick his room, then showed me mine. It was baby blue and lime green. I was so happy, but I was tired too. I fell asleep as soon as I hit the pillow.  
Michael laughed softly. "Welcome home, Cassie."

**Sorry so short, but this is going to be a short story. The ending is going to be sad. =( Love my chickas! Be sure you check out my new youtube vids. the ID is SmoothLadyCriminal**


	9. Chapter 9

*Home*

*Chapter 9-Cassie's Memoir*

****

Life after that was amazing. I spent my days in school. Soon, Michael married another woman, Debbie Rowe. I didnt like her much, but I told him to be happy.  
Soon, they had a son, Michael Joseph Jackson, Jr. We called him Prince. I loved that little baby so much. Soon, near my 16th birthday, Paris Michael Katherine Jackson came into the world, then Michael divorced Debbie. Those kids were Michael's world. He would always correct me, and say that Patrick and I were in that world. Patrick called him Dad right away, but I couldn't do it. He didn't mind, but I told him not to get it twisted, he was my dad. I just couldn't call him that. I did once, but that is for later.  
When I graduated early, Michael was so proud. He asked me what I wanted to be. I said a doctor, so he sent me out into the world, and I went to a great med school in New York City. I worked in hospitals up and down the East Coast. I stayed out of LA for years, but soon, on my 22nd birthday, I returned to Neverland, to get married to the love of my life, Will Daniels. Michael gave me away and Paris was my maid of honor. It was a small cermony, and Janet caught my bouquet.  
Soon, I had a son. I decided to name him Lucas Michael Daniels. After that, I moved with my family to LA. I started working in the UCLA Medical Center.

* * *

Not long after that was when Michael honestly went through hell. I remember Will calling me when I was visiting Patrick and his new wife, Leah.  
"You need to go to your dad's house, now," he said darkly.  
"Why?" I asked, suddenly afraid.  
"The damn Arvizos," he said, saying their name like a curse.  
"What about them?" I asked, sitting down.  
He filled me in, telling me what had happened. The mother had gotten mad cause Michael told them to get out. He was tired of them taking advantage of him. So she got her son to say Michael had molested him.  
"What?! Michael wouldn't…oh, God, not again!" I cried.  
"Tom Sneddon is jumping for joy. Cassie, he's in jail," Will said.  
"No!" I said. "I'm headed there now."  
"No, I'm here already with his brother, Jermaine. He specifically told me to tell you to get to the house, get the kids, and take them to our place."  
"Blanket too?" I asked.  
"Blanket too," he said.  
"Okay. I love you. Tell him I love him."  
"Love you, too."  
I cried on the way to get my brothers and sister. Paris looked up at me with tears in his eyes.  
"Is Daddy coming home?" she asked. I swallowed hard and nodded even harder.  
"Yes, sweetie, he is. Uncle Jermaine is trying to get him out," I said. I put Blanket in the car as Prince and Paris buckled up.  
The days, and weeks after that were so gruesome. Tom Sneddon was using the media's obsession with Michael as an advantage. Diane Dimond and Nancy Grace slammed him. But let me tell you about the interview I did with Nancy Grace, one that, to be honest, I was very proud of.

* * *

It was the week before trial began. I was in the room they put me in, and Nancy started.  
"Mrs Daniels-"  
"Call me Cassandra," I said, interrupting her. She looked pissed. Good. This was what I wanted.  
"Ok, Cassandra, let's begin with how do you know Michael Jackson?"  
"Oh, simple. He helped me when I was a forteen year old runaway. He unofficially adopted me after me and my brother went through abuse at home," I said.  
"What type of abuse?" she said.  
I rolled my eyes. "Not that it's any of your business, but mental, verbal, physical, and in my case, sexual. I ran from Chicago to LA to get away from it. Michael found me living in a hotel room. He took us in, and made sure we got, and I quote, 'the life we deserved'," I said.  
"So for all intents and purposes-"  
"He's my dad, yeah," I responded, interrupting her again.  
"Okay. So, here's what I want. Did Michael Jackson ever show a particular preference in your little brother?" she asked. I grinned.  
"What father doesn't show preference to his son?" I asked.  
"He's not his-"  
"Yes he is, Nancy. Honestly, my brother cannot remember our real dad. Michael is Dad to him, and it's been almost fifteen years," I said.  
"Okay, sure. Whatever you say. How about other kids? Did he show a special interest in them?"  
"Unless you're talking about wanting to help and just be a friend to them, then no, he didn't. Let's cut the crap, Nancy. You hate my dad. I don't know why, and I could care less. But I will tell you this right now, and everyone watching that believes the crap you tell them: my dad is not a pedophile in any way, shape, or form. All he did was take that family in, and they took advantage of him. He never got to be a kid, and all he wants is for kids to be kids. Now if that's a crime, over half of America are criminals. Why don't you go after cyber predators? Or real rapists and murderers? Leave my dad alone," I finished, and I walked off the set.

* * *

r

The trial was terrible. I could see it in Michael's eyes. Patrick testified, saying as long as we lived with Michael, Michael did not in any way make him feel uncomfortable. The jury found him believable, and they believed the others, like Maculary Culkin, too. I went to the courthouse everyday. I had Michael break down and cry on my shoulder after every session. That broke my heart, seeing the guy that saved me being broken so badly.  
The verdict finally came, and he wasn't guilty. I smiled, looked over at Nancy Grace, and smiled and shrugged. Then I ran up to Michael and hugged him tightly, who hugged me back. But when I looked in his eyes, I was so shocked. They were dead. No more emotion. I cried that day, cursing Tom Sneddon, Diane Dimond, and Nancy Grace for what they'd done to him. He was never the same after that, and all I wanted was to have the Michael of my teen years back. A few years later, I got my wish. Michael decided to do a few shows in London, his final tour. He had more life in him than I remembered. But he still worried me. I was scared. Scared to death that whatever he was doing, it was going to harm him. I knew he was on the prescriptions again. I had a feeling when I once told him to get some sleep, and he said, "Don't worry, that's under control." I was happy on the outside, scared on the inside.

* * *

One day, I went to visit Michael and the kids. I met Conrad Murray. I liked him enough but what scared me was Mike's voice came back.  
"Warn Michael...he's in danger."  
My worst mistake was thinking that voice was a figment of my imagination. I brushed it off and spent time with my family. It was lucky I did because it would be the last time I saw Michael this way.  
On June 25, 2009, I came into work. I had texted Michael the night before.  
_Remember, lunch tmmrw 1 Heritage Café! Love you!_ was the message I had gotten back.  
At 11 that morning, we got a call in the trauma center. I was still an intern. The page was "cardiac arrest. celebrity victim coming in."  
I got bad vibes then. I knew it was Michael. I just knew it. Hanna, my best friend, saw my expression.  
"Hey, Cass, snap out of it, we need you here!" she said. I shook myself and waited. They brought him in, and I screamed. My worst fear had been confirmed.  
"That's-my dad! Oh God!" I sobbed.  
"Hold his hand" a voice said. I did.  
"Michael, come on, please! You cannot leave me here!" I said. "Please, hold on," I kept begging him to open his eyes. They worked on him for an hour. I never let go of his hand, unless they were shocking his heart. At the end, he opened his eyes briefly, and found mine.  
"Daddy, please, don't go," was all I said, and I was crying.  
His eyes filled with sorrow, as if to say "I'm sorry," and I felt his life gradually slip away.  
I heard the doctor say "Call it," and I ran out of the room. Jermaine was out there and he caught me. I sobbed into his shoulder. I was losing it.  
"Sh, Cassie, sit down, calm down," he said. "Is he gone?"  
I could do nothing more than nod, and his eyes went dark.  
I sat there and tried to breathe, but oh God, the pain was so bad! I just lost the person who got me out of the streets. I lost my father. Why did I ignore Mike's voice? WHY? I should have listened, I should have warned Michael. conrad Murray was behind this, I knew it. But it's my fault, I didn't stop him.  
Grandma Katherine came and saw me. She saw me trying to compose myself and came over to me.  
"Cassie, Latoya told me you never left his side. Please, be strong, for you brothers and your sister," she said.  
"Are they here?" I asked, looking around. That's when I realized I was in a different corridor than the one I left.  
I walked and asked "Do they know?"  
"Yes, child," Grandma said, sadly. When Paris saw me she started to walk to me. But Blanket got there first.  
"Cassie, they told us Daddy's gone, is it true? Please, tell me it isn't true!" he said, sobbing and hugging my legs. I lost it again and picked him up, crying my eyes out. He looked so much like Michael.  
"Blanket, I am so sorry, it's true, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," was all I could say. Will arrived then and took Blanket from me.  
"Where's Lucas?" I asked about my five year old son.  
"Mom's. Baby, I am so sorry. It's a madhouse out there," he said, hugging me.  
"I should have done something," I sobbed.  
"Baby, you couldn't have," he whispered.  
Jermaine tapped my shoulder. "The kids want to see him," he said. I sighed shaking and nodded. "I'll take them."  
I went to the room where they had taken him. He had a blue sheet covering him, except his face. He looked like he was asleep. He looked at peace. Something he never got.  
Blanket cried. "Bye, Daddy, I love you."  
Prince said nothing, he just rubbed Michael's head. Paris had tears going down her face as she sang that song she sang on her birthday so many years ago.  
_"You are my daddy  
My only daddy  
You make me happy  
When skies are gray  
You never know dear,  
how much I love you  
Please don't take my daddy away."  
_I cried as I ushered them out of the room. As we were leaving through the back entrance, I saw him. Dr. Murray.  
Latoya saw him first.  
"I'll get you, I swear, you killed my brother, why? Why is he gone, Conrad?!? You'll go down, I know you will," she screamed as Randy and Jackie pulled her out. I glared at him.  
"Cassie, I'm-"  
I shook my head angrily, but I did not speak to him. I had no words for him.  
We met at Grandma's. She was upset, but she held it in. Latoya and Rebbie and Janet all convened on the back porch. I knocked on the glass door.  
"May I join you?" I asked.  
Janet smiled softly. Her plane had just got here. "You don't have to ask, honey. You've been through more than we have today."  
I sat in a beach chair and looked up.  
"He's already up there, I know it," I whispered.  
"Of course he is," Rebbie said softly. Now he can really moonwalk. But oh, God, why leave the kids here?" Her voice broke.  
I kept looking up as I wondered the same thing in my mind. My heart felt so heavy.  
Latoya looked up with me. "He'll make sure the kids are taken care of. He's our Michael. He was so good, I'm sure God will make sure he can still help his kids from up there."  
Janet sniffed. "This world feels lonlier already."  
I jumped up.  
"Where are you going?" they asked.  
"Talk with the fans. They want to share our grief and theirs," I said.  
I walked to the gates. There were dozens of people there.  
"Cassandra?" one girl asked. I looked at her, and ears were dripping down her face.  
"I just want to say I am so, so sorry-" she burst into tears and I hugged her.  
"I know. You guys meant the world to him," I whispered. I talked with a few more. I heard one of his songs, my favorite, "Will You Be There?", playing. I waited to hear the poem, and I cried when I did. That's going to be the only way I hear his voice again.

* * *

The memorial was two weeks later. I decided not to go on stage, the pain was too much. I had to leave right after Paris broke down onstage. Usher, who got teary while singing, found me with my back to the wall, and I was crying.  
"Is it possible to be drained of tears?" I asked him. He bit his lip, and shook his head. He took my hand and helped me up.  
"I've cried more in these past two weeks than I have in my whole life," I explained.  
"I understand. Just so you know, Cassandra, Michael loved you and your brother so much. He spoke highly of you all, but you, girl, he was very proud of. He felt as if he saved your life," Usher said.  
I smiled sadly. "He did. I'm so sad I couldn't save his," I said.  
"Hey hey hey, don't be like that. It's not your fault. You never left his side for a minute in that hospital," he said. Janet saw the two of us talking.  
"Guys, we're heading to the hotel after this," she said.  
"How's Paris?" I asked, sniffing.  
"Not good. Mom's got her though. Do you two need more time to talk?" she asked.  
"Nah, it can wait," Usher said, hugging me. "I'll see you in a few."  
I walked with Cassandra to the limo where Patrick, his wife, and Prince, Blanket, and Paris were, along with Grandma and Grandpa. When I got in the car, Blanket rested his head on my shoulder. I looked over at Paris and took her hand.  
"Cassie, it hurts," she said.  
"What does?" I asked.  
"My heart," she said.  
"Honey, all of our hearts are hurting," Janet replied, rubbung her hair. Prince sat there, looking out the window.  
"Prince? Are you okay?" I asked.  
"Yeah," he said. "He's really up there, isn't he?"  
"Yeah," I whispered. "He is."

* * *

I was asleep the night after we buried Michael. It was so vivid, and so real.  
I was walking in Neverland. I have no idea why I was there, but I felt someone staring at me. I looked up in Michael's favorite tree. He was sitting there, humming to himself. He looked...like he never had vitiligo, never had the surgery.  
He looked amazing.  
He jumped down and hugged me tightly and I hugged him back. I didn't want to let him go.  
"Are you okay?" I asked him.  
"Yeah, Cassandra, I'm fine," he said, smiling.  
"I am so sorry. Mike's voice, it told me to warn you, and I didn't, and I am so so so sorry," I whispered.  
He hugged me again. "It's not your fault, Cassie. I wouldn't have listened. I admit, I had a problem, but that doesn't change some things."  
"Like what?" I asked.  
"Like the fact that Dr. Murray shouldn't have given the drugs to me, period, no matter how much money I offered him. I am so sorry I'm putting you guys through this," he said.  
"Michael, it's not your fault you're gone," I whispered. "Did you meet my mom, are you in Heaven?"  
"I met her. She is so proud of you, sweetheart," he said. We were somehow in the tree, now, though I don't remember climbing.  
"The whole world needs you, Michael. It's gone crazy," I said.  
"I know. It's too bad-"  
"-they realized it too late," we said together.  
He smiled. "I'm still here with you. In your hearts. Like that song, the one you liked so much you had me sing it at your wedding," he said, grinning.  
"_You Are Not Alone._ Yeah, I remember," I said.  
"Everytime you think I'm gone, play that song in your head, and you'll know that I'm still there. And I always will be."  
I woke up, crying again, but I finally came to terms with his death.  
Now, Latoya and I are pushing for stricter laws on prescriptions, media frenzies, and paparazzi in general. Michael's death is a homicide, but Conrad Murray hasn't beem charged with anything.  
Yet. If I have anything to do with it, he won't see the light of day for a long time.  
I'll never forgive Diane Dimond, Tom Sneddon, or Nancy Grace for what they did to Michael. They drove the last nail in his coffin, through all that scrutiny and accusations. Diane actually came up to me and tried to say she was sorry for my loss. I told her to burn in hell. It wasn't nice, but I cannot stand a hypocrite.  
Will and I divorced a few months after my dream. He just couldn't handle some things anymore, but we remain good friends. I have custody of Lukas. Paris, Prince, and Blanket are still very heartbroken, but I know Michael is still loving them with everything, wherever he is. Sometimes I feel him around me, especially when I miss him a lot. I have a feeling I know who Lucas's, Paris's, Prince's, and Blanket's guardian angel will be.  
Michael Jackson was the guy who saved me from the streets, and he was the dad I was supposed to have. I know I'll see him again one day.


End file.
